Queen of the Iron Pot
by Parmawen
Summary: Ever wondered what happened to Glorfindel when movie!Arwen stole his role in FotR?  So did I.  Here's a silly little explanation.  I apologize in advance to any Arwen fans out there!


Queen of the Iron Pot

This is highly disgraceful. I really must talk to her father about this shocking behavior.

Ai, now I'm talking to myself. How did I even get in the mess? How did I, Glorfindel, leader of Lord Elrond's forces, end up bound, gagged, and stuffed into an overcrowded closet?

Ah yes, I remember now. 'Twas HER. That little wench, as soon as I get out of here, she had better run, because I'm going to wring her neck!

Then again, as I've been in here for over two hours (I think at least, I've lost track of time), the chances of me getting out in the near future appear a bit slim. Well, to pass the time, I might as well recount how I got in this dilemma. Maybe it will as least keep me from going crazy until someone finds me.

Well, it all began when I was summoned to Elrond's private office this morning…..

"Glorfindel," he said to me. "I have a mission for you, most valiant of all my men-er, elves."

I preened. After all, who wouldn't want to be known as the most valiant of all elves—men—whatever?

"Now, Glorfindel, I have received word that there is a Halfling in need of our aid. Frodo Baggins, of the Shire. He has been stabbed by a Morgul blade and is fading quickly."

"How do you know this?"

Elrond shrugged. "Call it a hunch."

"Aw, forget it. He's just a Halfling. They're swarming all over the place. You just said that he's pretty much lost already. Why should I go looking for him?"

Lord Elrond ticked off points on his fingers. "Well, let's see. His uncle—yes, Bilbo, the one who is currently writing horrendous poetry next door—will kill _you_ for letting him die, my daughter will kill _me_ because Frodo is with her 'boyfriend', and oh yeah, Frodo has the One Ring, which will kill _THE ENTIRE WORLD _before long if something isn't done about it! Good enough for you?"

"I'm on it." I was walking out the door on my way to saddle my trusty steed Asfoleth, when Arwen stuck her head in the door. It startled me out of a year's growth, I will have you know, and I've been done growing for the last 8 centuries.

"Ada," she said, flouncing her way over to her father. Really, the girl is remarkably spoiled sometimes. Didn't even say "Sorry" for nearly clipping my nose off with the door. "Ada, what's Glorfy going to do?"

Elrond smiled good naturedly, while I glared over at Arwen for that horrid nickname. Elrohir gave it to me when he was but an elfling, and I am sorry to say that it has stuck for going on 3000 years. "Ahem, _Glorfy_ is going to rescue Frodo from the Nazgul that are chasing him and that filthy little ranger you like to pal around with."

"Ohhhh." Suddenly, Arwen's whole demeanor shifted. She went from whiny to whinier. "Adaaaaa, can I go? I haven't seen my Gornie-kins in YEARS! Please?"

So she added a please. I didn't think she even knew what the word meant. Elrond was firm for once and said, "Arwen, there is no need to get so dramatic. You saw Aragorn last month, if my memory does not fail me. And no dear, you may not go."

"Oh Adddda, why? I wanna go!" She stamped her foot in a way that was MOST unbecoming to an elf lady.

"Because dear, it's dangerous. I love you too much to let anything dreadful happen to you." Oh please.

"But why does HE get to go?" Here Arwen pointed to me. I very wisely decided to keep my big mouth shut.

"Because he is several millennia older than you, and he is trained in the art of battle."

"So am I! Watch!" Arwen leapt across the room, nearly took about a priceless Numenorean vase, and stumbled on a footstool in the center of the office, twisting her ankle. Hopping on one foot, a grimace of pain across her lovely features, she howled, "Look! See, I'm just as stealthy as Glorfy could ever be!"

Elrond, who was now trying to hold back his chuckles in vain, gulped a few times and said, "I see that dear, but the matter has already been decided. I would like you to please leave the room now." Arwen pouted prettily and flounced back out the door, kicking me in the shin in the process. I yelped, and followed. If what Lord Elrond was saying was correct, there wasn't much time before this little Halfling (What was his name? Toto? Bobo?), succumbed to the Wraith blade.

As I walked happily down the hallway, I thought to myself, _Gee, I'm sure glad to be rid of her! Oops….spoke too soon. _For there was Arwen, standing in front of me with a prissy little expression on her face.

"Glorfy?" she whined. "Can you help me? I can't reach something off the top shelf of my closet. You're so tall, you should be able to reach it right away."

I should have laughed in her face. I should have said, "Ha, no way!" and left then and there. But I didn't. And that was my biggest mistake. Instead, without thinking, I said, "Uhhhhh, sure Arwen," and followed her to her bedroom.

Once inside Lady Arwen's VERY sparkly pink bedroom, she led me over to the closet. "Just grab that one little sweater up there for me, will you? Thanks Glorfy, you're the BESTEST!" And she KISSED me! On the cheek! I think the magenta lipstick stain is still there! I blushed like I knew I would and reached up to the top of the closet. I felt around on the top shelf. It was no wonder Arwen had trouble reaching it. I had to stand on my tiptoes and I'm known as one of the taller of my species.

"Arwen, are you sure it's up here?" I felt around the entire shelf, and nothing met my grasp.

"Oh, I'm sure."

"Well, I'm not feeling anything, so in a minute you're going to have to get a stepstool and find it yourse-"

WHAM. What is that sound, you ask? That would be the sound of a very large cast iron pot crashing down on the back of my sensitive head. THUMP. And THAT is the sound of one blonde elf falling head first into Arwen's closet.

When I woke up, I was very securely tied up, harboring a massive headache, and sitting rather uncomfortably on top of a pile of Arwen's dirty laundry. So, I guess I'm stuck here until she gets back and decides to let me go. The brat, she's probably riding my darling wittle Asfoleth even as we speak! And now SHE'S going to be the one spoken of in tales and put into songs. Won't be "The Ballad of the Daring Glorfindel", nooo, it'll be "The Ballad of the Spoiled Brat Arwen, Queen of the Iron Pot."

Sometimes life really stinks.

THE END


End file.
